What they could never say
by OracleEvolution
Summary: She couldn't admit what she felt, but neither could she deny it. But when the object of Lark's affection becomes ill, what else can she do but try and help? This is actually for a fanfic challenge a friend of mine gave on her site. P.S. This is not a deat


AN- Yes, this has been posted on another forum, and no I am not stealing it :) Forgive any typos please, I apologize in advanced. Lark is the only character I own, and she comes in many shapes and sizes. I have her, in one story, as Kurt's adopted daughter, heehee. Anyways... If you wanna hear that, I'll be happy to post it.   
  
The thunder rolled around the sky as if the Gods themselves were playing ninepins. The rain pelted down, but inside the X Mansion, it was warm and cozy. Jennifer 'Lark' Owens had never minded the rain; she had always found a certain amount of peace with it. Rain gave the plants water and nourishment far more than any hose could. And for the plant- controlling mutant, that was all she needed to know. Lark's power extended to controlling and swiftly growing any plant she had knowledge of. Half her room consisted of wither music filled note books, or books about plants (the occasional Stephan King novel as well).  
  
The blonde violin player had parked herself by the fireside in the main lounge with a good book (Lorna Doone) hours before the storm had started, after saying a quick, worried good-bye to Kurt, Logan, and Jean. The three of them had left mid-afternoon on a mission that neither they, nor the professor would divulge information on. The nineteen year old simply nodded and hugged each of the missioners (including Logan) and wished them luck, although her hug to Kurt lasted a little longer than the other two.   
  
"Be safe." she had whispered for his ears only, even though Wolverine's acute sense had picked it up anyway.   
  
"I will be, liebling, promise." he had said with his characteristic grin. Then the Blackbird had started up and they flew off into the sun, off to Gods-knew-where.   
  
And now, Lark had hoped they made to their destination before the rains came, or at least been able to fly above it. Even while practicing her violin, her thoughts strayed to her benefactor, the one who had brought her to the X-Men in the first place three years ago. Those three years that felt like an eternity now.   
  
At sixteen, Lark had been a skinny waif, clutching a duffel bag and a violin case. She had been so shy and skittish, refusing to meet any of their eyes. Save for Kurt's, the illuminating orbs she had found comfort in were her soul purpose for coming out of her shell. He had made her laugh, softly at first, made her feel good about herself with warm comments of praise when he first heard her play her violin.   
  
He had even gotten her to play for a couple of other people too, much to the surprise of Logan and Scott, who thought that Lark would be skittish around Kurt most of all, but the opposite had seem to happen. Jean was the one who asserted it was the fact that Lark had been treated so poorly in her home town that made her feel like an outcast. So, she immediately formed a rapport with Kurt, who (not to insult the fuzzy elf) looked as much as the outcast as Lark felt.   
  
It made sense, and no one argued with it. It was Kurt who got Lark to eat, play, smile, even laugh. When she first came to the mansion, she said little and ate less. She was a pretty little thing, once she gained normal weight for her height, and smiled. Her eyes stopped looking so hollow and lost. But then, she had good reason for them to be hollow.   
  
True, she was no great beauty. Her figure was slight. not voluptuous like Emma Frost, or exotic, like Storm. She was more sweet. Kurt compared her to a subdued Pollyanna, much to Lark's quiet dismay. She didn't want to be cute in a juvenile way. She had the same yearning as any other girl in the world to be thought of as worldly and sophisticated. Maybe once she was a 'Pollyanna', young and sweet.  
  
But here and now, she was a legal adult, almost twenty, and Kurt's friendship had developed her into a fine young woman. She felt she owed him more than she could ever pay back. He had given her a new life. And since her eighteenth birthday, their friendship had developed into...dare she think it?...a little more than friendship? Well, at least she wanted it to be, she thought.   
  
It was true, she found him handsome, that she always had. She had told him once, very quietly, after a woman named Sara had dumped him, that any woman not wanting to be with him, was a waste of mass anyway. After a tight hug, and an Errol Flynn marathon, they fell asleep on the couch together.   
  
Could he feel something for her? Would he want to?  
  
Maybe. But Lark didn't dare say anything about that to Kurt. If it was true, it would flourish; but if it wasn't, why ruin a perfectly good friendship?   
  
She'd never admit to liking Kurt that way, and it provided a certain Cajun with hours of teasing entertainment (how is it that he could see what Lark thought she felt if even the two telepaths couldn't?) . Like this rainy early evening.   
  
"No' that you be interested, chere, but de elf an' crew are back." Remy said, walking past Lark, with his own trademark grin. Lark looked up and smiled, forcing herself to walk to the door, instead of hurrying. As she reached for the door knob, she found she had no need too, because Logan had already burst through, grumbling about Storm refusing the stop Nature's rain.   
  
Lark offered a towel without a word, but Logan shook it off. "Save it for the Elf, Birdy. Thanks though," he said and kept the door open for Jean and Kurt to walk through before heading off to his own quarters.   
  
Both X-Men were thoroughly drenched, although both had coats on, it didn't seem to do much help. Jean and Kurt both accepted the proffered towels, though Kurt kept his head down and out of sight. Lark wondered why, but instead she asked, "Did it go all right?"   
  
Jean nodded, "Yes, pretty well. I'd tell you what it was about, but...." The red-headed telepathic trailed off, but Lark understood.   
  
"I understand, top secret!" the blonde girl smiled. Woman, Jean rebuked herself, young woman now. Almost twenty years old, even if she did retain that air of innocence. And they had all seen her fight. Lark could definitely hold her own, especially with those Carolinian briars she was found of throwing at her would be attackers.   
  
Jean smiled and left to go find Scott to spend some quality time after she had dried off some more....  
  
Lark turned her attention to the soaked Kurt who still had not entered in from the door way, though he had shut the door. He was furiously drying his hair, and muttering something in German.   
  
His coat was still on, dripping cold rain water from it. "Kurt?" Lark said, creeping up to him. The drying of the towel ceased, and Kurt peered from under it, the features of his face almost invisible from the shadows of the towel. Lark stifled a chuckle.   
  
"Here, let me get your coat." she said , helping him shrug out of the damp thing.   
  
"Ach, danke Lark. I hope you weren't too worried about us." Kurt said, his voice muffled from the towel. She placed his coat up to dry, saying, "Not at all."   
  
Liar, she thought, though with a smile. It was then she noticed he was shivering hard. His jaw was clamped to make sure his teeth didn't chatter, otherwise his sharp canines could cut his lips to laces.   
  
Lark's smile disappeared instantly as she turned to face Kurt. "Are you ok? You're shivering awfully hard."   
  
"Ja, ja, I am fine. Just chilly form the weather is all. Nothing to wor--- ich'hishh!" He sneezed so suddenly, Lark jumped back a little. "Ach! Forgive me Lark, I am sorry. Cold water and wet fur do not go well together."   
  
"Hey, no need to apologize to me. I'm just hope not you're coming down with something. It's like Noah's Ark the sequel out there." Lark said, handing him another towel.   
  
"I hope not; das is the last thing I need, I do not have time to be sick." Kurt said, and punctuated it with another forceful sneeze.   
  
"Bless you."   
  
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Although he was a devote Catholic, Kurt had to coin a phrase Lark used often, which was 'The irony gods obviously feel as though I haven't enough to keep me busy'. This was certainly the case now with this evening, Kurt reflected with a slightly congested cough. He walked up the stairs with Lark in tow, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The feeling of her hand there, meant to give him comfort, made him smile.   
  
When she first came to the institute, it had been holding Kurt's hand. Not Jean's, or Scott's, or Warren's. His fuzzy, three-fingered, freaky looking hand. It wasn't that he begrudged his friends anything. Quite the contrary in fact; he would lay down his life to protect them.   
  
But it felt nice to have a new student, never having been exposed to the likes of him before, hold so trustingly onto his hand, even if she wasn't all that younger than he was.   
  
It felt good that Lark hadn't cringed away from his appearance the first time she saw him. In fact, she actually came running into his arms at the time, some silent voice in her mind telling her he was a good guy. The poor girl had been crying, bruises marring her otherwise pretty face, and she had clung to his uniform while he scooped her up and carried her gently to the awaiting Blackbird, herself clutching her duffel and violin case.   
  
He recalled the scent of beer and cigarette smoke had clung to her hair and buried into her clothes, her tears flowing from her eyes. The apartment they found her in was a mess. Bottle of various alcoholic drinks were strewn about, and some woman was passed out on the couch. Lark had been huddled in the corner, wide terrified eyes staring at a house plant that had been dead moments ago, but now was thriving and covering one half of the floor.   
  
How had she known not be afraid of him? Kurt'd never know, and somehow, he didn't really care. It felt wonderful to have her instantly trust him like that.   
  
Kurt paused as he felt a warm squeeze on his shoulder and looked around to his left where Lark was. Her face was framed in worry. "You're shivering awful hard Kurt...."  
  
"Ja Liebling, it's just the chill of the room. Mein fur does not dry quickly." he said giving her a rogue-like smile, trying to discern any worries of her. However, even as he tried to wave off any symptoms of a cold or flu, Kurt felt his nose twitch and quickly turned away from Lark, sneezing hard and wetly into the crook of his arm several times.   
  
"Ich'ishhh... ich'ch!...ack'choo! Ugh..." and on it went.  
  
The feeling of a hand rubbing his back brought him quickly back to reality, and he sniffled softly. "I'm sorry...."   
  
"No Kurt, don't.... Let's just go and get you a fire going, ok?"   
  
There were no arguments.   
  
"Ok, no more wet clothing! Out of those things." Lark declared once the door was shut. The fact that the request was coming from a woman was enough to raise and eye brow, but the fact that it was coming from Lark was even more to raise a grin on Kurt's face.   
  
"Ah, but Leibling, I do believe it's too soon for that! Not even dinner first?" he grinned his roguish charm on her and Lark went red. One minutes he was begging her pardon for sneezing by her, the next he was offering a show. Lark took the towel and rolled it up, smacking his backside softly with it, even as her cheeks turned a deeper crimson.  
  
"You know what I meant!"   
  
"Can I at least keep my pants?" he asked her, looking plaintive.   
  
"Yes!" Lark said, eyes widened and once more, her cheeks still rosy.   
  
Kurt snickered and went into his bathroom and changed into a pair of tailor gray sweat pants and a white tee shirt. His undercoat fur still felt damp, but then again, it always did, whether he showered or got caught in a hurricane.   
  
When he walked out, Lark was knelt by the fire place, stoking up a fire as the rain pelted down on the roof. He paused, watching her in the growing glow of the fire. She wasn't perfect; that was made perfectly clear. She could be willful, moody, and far too secretive. At times she could be over emotional (usually that was once a month for a day), but still so sweet and kind. And caring.   
  
Kurt reflected as he stood in the door way, that the best thing he liked about Lark was that she was genuine. Not a fake sweet, like saccharine. She genuinely cared about his well being and his health.   
  
Lark looked up to him and smiled to him, encased in the glow from the fireplace. Her blond hair glimmered from the honey color it usually was to peach, orange and red. Angel hair. Fire hair.   
  
'She is so....' Kurt stopped himself right there. What was he thinking? Lark cared about him, yes, she even loved him maybe, but as a brother; a best friend. But that was all. She was his comforter when things like relationships went wrong, his permanent hug, and soft smiles when he coaxed one out of her.   
  
'Plus, she's five or so years your junior. She may be a legal adult, but in many ways, she's as fragile as a child.' he thought to himself.   
  
Kurt was, however, shaken out of his reverie by a succession of quick, fitful, wet sneezes, if only to remind him of his few hours spent in a hurricane.   
  
"Ach! Ha'chish! Ha'chish, ich'sho..!"   
  
"Bless you." Lark said, coming up with his worn terry cloth robe and wrapping it around his shoulders as she gently pushed/guided him to his bed. She had found the box of tissues and brought one to his hand.   
  
"Danke," he murmured, sniffling into the handkerchief. His eyes felt so heavy all of a sudden. He felt exhausted now, as he laid down under the comforter of his bed. He was sure he could remember feeling more tired than this, but at the moment, he didn't feel like justifying the memory.   
  
"Is there anything I can do for you?" Lark asked as she tucked the comforter around Kurt's shoulders. He heard the worry in her voice.   
  
"Nein, nein Leibling, I will be fine. I will sleep this off and soon become the roguish elf you so know and love."   
  
'Oh, that statement holds more than you can ever possibly know.' she thought as she fought her mind's instinct to not wear out her welcome and stroke his cheek, make sure he was all right. She wanted to hold him and rock him. Tell him how much he meant to her, what he had done for her. But hidden fear she didn't understand of annoying him, or keeping him from rest shoved her legs into movement. She paused to hug him, invoking another smile from Kurt, and wishing of sweet dreams from both parties.   
  
But even as she shut the door, Lark's heart gave a twist as she heard the wet, draining sounds of Kurt sneezing one more time.   
  
It couldn't have been any more than one in the morning, maybe even earlier when a loud crash of thunder woke Lark up from a precarious slumber. If Lark had one embarrassing secret it was the fact that thunder storms scared her. Well, not all the time, but one nights like this, when she woke up in the dark to loud crashing, sounds, like those of bombs being dropped off, it startled her. It reminded her of the apartment on 78th street, right outside of Harlem.   
  
Waking up as a child, and seeing her mother weeping bitterly, and then have her look up with scorn in her eyes, and that scorn directed at Lark herself...and then hear the clap of thunder resound off the cheap, peeling walls....   
  
Her mother.... Anne Owens.... The woman who called her beloved baby by day, but bitch at night. A thin shell of a woman she used to be before Lark's father left them when Lark was five.   
  
And still, thunder scared her, even at age 19 and one half. Go figure.   
  
And now, up and prowling the hallway for the stairs that would take her into the kitchen, Lark's ears picked up a strange sound. Furrowing her brows, she realized it was coming from Kurt's room. It was soft enough to not penetrate the other rooms, but loud enough for Lark to hear as she passed close by his walls.   
  
It was the sound of moaning, soft but distressed sounding, mixed the rustling of sheets. The tell-tale sounds and signs of a nightmare. Lark debated with herself, frozen in place like a deer in headlights. It was only when she heard the hard sounds of congested coughing with a strangled cry of, "Stefan, mien Gott, nein! Nein, Verlassen Sie mich, Bruder nicht! Warum!?" that she gave herself a mental slap and pushed in the door, praying to the gods that he had left it unlocked after she left.   
  
Gods, why did she leave him!? 'I never should have left him' her mind raced as the door opened as she turned the knob and she dashed about inside.   
  
Kurt was laying there among the rumpled sheets, his three fingered hand stretched out, his face in an expression of agony, while his eyes squeezed shut, grimacing. Lark knelt down by his bed in a hurry, knocking her knees hard on the side. Biting her lip from the pain, she took Kurt's shoulder, and began shaking him, saying "Kurt, Kurt, wake up! Wake up Kurt, you're dreaming...!"   
  
As if on some cue, Kurt's eyes opened on the word 'dreaming', and he sat bolt up right in bed. And as if on another cue, he immediately turned his head from Lark, sneezing twice in succession into his other shoulder, hard and punctuated.   
  
"Ash'choo! Ash'choo!"   
  
"Bless you, Kurt."   
  
He turned his head to see a tissue offered form Lark's hands, and his eyes turned upwards to hers, in some sort of a shock, getting back form his dream state.   
  
"Kurt?" Lark asked softly, worried now. He hadn't said anything yet...  
  
But there were no words he could say in the moment, sniffling softly, he put his arms around her, eager to hold onto something solid and safe.   
  
Feeling like crying, the both of them, he buried his face in her shoulder, feeling soft hands coming around his back.   
  
She held onto him, her grip tightening with time. What else could she do? She had no concept of time, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. He sniffled from time to time, and Lark wasn't sure if it was because he was crying, or because of his sneezing, but she wasn't going to ask him at this point in time.  
  
From behind her, she could hear padded footsteps, and saw (swiveling her head around, Jean and Scott standing there in the doorway.   
  
Jean sent the words, Is he okay? to Lark, making her wonder if it was because it was futile to be heard over the storm, or because she didn't want to disturb Kurt, or place him on the spot.   
  
Lark nodded, swallowing forcefully, but both Jean and Scott looked worried (well, Jean looked worried; Lark couldn't tell all of Scott's expression, due to the visor, but his mouth was expressive). Kurt hadn't brought his head back up yet, just breathing as normally as he could. Lark could feel his heart palpitating.   
  
Inside Lark's mind, she heard the ghostly voice again that seemed to come from everywhere. If you need anything, come get us, okay Lark?  
  
Once more, Lark nodded. Jean turned to go, but Scott made a movement as if to enter the room anyway. A slim hand on his shoulder was enough of a force to stop him. Jean shook her head, gestured to the other way, picking up the 'vibes' that both Lark and Kurt needed to be left alone. Scott frowned, but complied anyway.   
  
Kurt was one of his teammates, one of his oldest team mates, next to the Jean, Bobby, Warren, and Hank. If he was sick, Scott wanted to know precisely what it was and when Kurt would get over it. But sometimes, as Jean was about to show him, protocol had to take a flying leap.   
  
After closing the door quietly, Lark looked down to Kurt, and brought one hand from his back, and over to his forehead. Not too much to her surprise, it felt uncomfortably heated. Well, this explained the nightmare, whatever it had entailed.   
  
"Kurt...?" Had he fallen asleep, right here in her arms? The idea would have been thrilling if the feeling of worry didn't have her by the throat.   
  
He raised his head slowly, and was obviously about to answer her, probably with some apology and forced roguish grin, as was his way, but his flu or cold or whatever it was had a different idea, cutting off whatever he wanted to say with a hard sneeze and congested cough. "Hit'chish!"   
  
"Bless you." Without fail.  
  
"Ugh... Danke Liebling.... I... I am fine now, sorry to have woken you. You should go back to your room...." he trailed off, searching for the unseen box of tissues, one hand curled around his lower face.   
  
Lark felt stupid just frozen there as her mind waged war against her opposing thoughts. What if he just wanted to be left alone, or she had embarrassed him by bursting into his room? Or....   
  
Swallowing hard, she shook her head so that her hair left her shoulders, saying in as strong a voice as she could, "Nothing doing, Kurt.... you have a fever... and you're sick. No one should be left alone like this...." She was babbling and she knew it. Why couldn't she have been a telepath and just conveyed her thoughts and feelings via the mind?   
  
"Ja, but it's just a tiny...." he started and for the first she cut him off.   
  
"I don't think so.... I want to take your temperature and see how tiny it is." Lark sounded a lot surer than she felt, staring down at the man she knew could be so much fun to just be with, and yet at the same time, hold so much of himself to...well, himself. Had he ever talked about how he felt about his past? How he felt about Mystique being his mother and leaving him to die as she did?   
  
They weren't so different after all.   
  
Without a response from Kurt, Lark nodded again, saying, "Right. I'll go get the thermometer."  
  
Kurt grinned to himself and then to Lark, a small smile in the dark that even Lark could see. "Ja, Liebling... top drawer on the left of the sink."   
  
Rummaging slightly through the drawer, Lark found the thermometer, and pushed the small button on the side of it, hearing muffled, "Hit'chish!" in the room. Inwardly, she smiled at the picture of Kurt rubbing his nose and growling at his unruly sinus, tail twitching in aggravations. She hadn't seen that expression on his face sine one of those overactive Pro-Mutant Activist grabbed him and began preaching how life was precious, and petting him. Lark could almost hear him thinking "She is a lady, I will not strike her, she is a lady, I will not strike her..."   
  
Entering the room again, she found Kurt untangling the sheets with small success. With hoarse sounding sigh he finally gave up as Lark gently batted his hands down and popped the beeping machine in his mouth, under his tongue, and began setting the sheets and comforter to rights.   
  
In no time, they were untangled from each other and from Kurt. He had sat pretty still, watching her with quiet gratitude. The thermometer beeped thrice and Lark took it out of his mouth to inspect it and kept a soft gasp to herself. It read 101.8, which wasn't too terribly high, but high enough for Lark to really start worrying.   
  
"Vas?"  
  
Lark looked up and plastered a semi-smile on her face. "Well, you do have a fever, but it isn't terribly high.... High enough to make sure you stay in bed till it goes away though. Um... probably explains your nightmare, though." Lark's tone was a bit more softer as she glided a hand from his forehead to his hand, giving a soft squeeze.   
  
Kurt gave a small, almost inaudible sigh, hoarseness coming to his voice. "It's guilt and guilt alone that drives those dreams...."   
  
Lark perked her ears (metaphorically) and kept her eyes down, lightly, ever so lightly, stroking the three fingers and palm on his hand. "You've had that dream before?" she said, trying to keep her tone light.   
  
"Ja. Well, it differs from time to time. And it isn't every night. Just some.... According to Jean, sometimes I say things in German, sometimes in English. I- ha'chish! t'chish!- urgh..."   
  
"Bless you, Kurt," Lark said, handing him another couple of tissues.   
  
"Danke again, Liebling." He accepted them and put them to good use, fully turning his torso away from her before blowing.   
  
"Und you are probably right, once this verdammt fever goes away, so will that... dream," he tries to assure her. She looked so worried for him. Pretty, in the soft embers of his fire, her features softened in the dimming light. and the tiny caresses felt good on his hand. Caring felt good.   
  
But still, his back hurt, and his nose tickled and tingled. He wish he could just get the sneezes over with at once and be done with the whole blasted thing.   
  
Maybe the girl... Not so much a girl anymore, Wagner... had some sort of empathic link to people, or maybe she just noticed the discomfort on his face. Whatever it was, Lark scooted a little closer, letting his hand go softly, asking in shy tones, "Kurt, does your back hurt? Shoulders?"   
  
He couldn't lie, not like this. "Ja Liebling. But maybe this cold is settling from my nose to my bones. It would be a welcomed relief," and he tried grinning again.   
  
"Here, turn around.... Um, you shouldn't have to be in pain...." Lark said quietly. Kurt silently wondered something. Lark didn't pity him.... maybe aspects of his life, but not him. Kurt had never been babied by either Mystique nor Margali grown up. It wasn't that Margali didn't care, she just didn't have time. She had people to help, direct, and two of her own children, birth children, to take care of.  
  
"If... you don't mind, that would really help...." he said, halting a bit, choosing his words, even as the tinge in his nose grew more fierce. This time, he grabbed a handful of tissues, sneezing into them twice with a hard 'ha'tich' sound.   
  
"Bless you," Lark said, turning him around softly, and began rubbing his shoulders and back, alternating between the two.   
  
It was like a touch of an angel, the ache going away, taking his mind off of the uncomfortable heat in his head, his nose, his dream. For a little while, Kurt didn't mind being in bed. But he had to ask himself one question, one nagging question. And maybe it was just his past experiences creeping up, but he had to ask "Why did she care?"   
  
And "Would she continue doing so?"   
  
He hoped so.   
  
Morning dawned bright and crisped. It was like those mornings that excited her just to be up when Lark was a little girl. But the aforementioned mutant was asleep, her knees curled up beneath her, head laid upon the rumpled bedspread next to a blue, three fingered hand.   
  
The other blue hand was tangled in the spilled blonde hair, thoughtlessly stroking the strands back in Kurt's sleep. Who woke up first wasn't determined; maybe they woke at the same time, but the first sight Lark saw were the crescents of Kurt's eyes opening, and the first thing Kurt saw were the sleepy hazel-green eyes of his song bird violinist.  
  
She smiled lightly, but didn't speak, acutely aware of morning breath. She did however try to get up, only to be brought back down again, becoming equally aware of Kurt's hand stroking back her hair.   
  
"ACH! I am so- so sorry liebling! Here, let me try...wait, no... ooh! Gott in Himmel! Okay, here it goes..." the babbling was ceased by Lark trying to get her hair free and her giggling.   
  
Without anything else to say, she looked down at the bedspread. "I...I stayed here all night," she said, almost murmuring.   
  
Kurt smiled. "So I see."   
  
"I hope you don't mind...."  
  
"Not at all Lark. I am genuinely honored that you cared so much as to stay."   
  
"Are you feeling any better?" her fingers making small patterns on the bed and he chuckled lightly for no reason at all, simply to nod his head.   
  
"Ja, much better." And he did, if slightly congested. Probably another day of rest would set him to rights again.  
  
Then the silence continued. There were so many words they wanted to say. 'I love you, I love you, I love you....' were just some of the whispered phrases. All the things she could never say, she spoke in her mind, savoring the syllables silently, speaking his name. I love you, Kurt. Since the first week, you took me in, made me a person. Instead she said out loud, "Would you like some breakfast? I think I can manage to not burn some toast and cereal before we take your temperature again," and a shy smile.   
  
His smile seem to falter slightly, but he simply squeezed her hand. "Sounds wonderful Lark, thank you."  
  
Lark got up, more than just a little stiff from a night spent in the same position. "I'll be back a.s.a.p." she called over her shoulder as she walked down to the stairs and to the kitchen.   
  
When she returned , Kurt had drifted off again, in a light sleep, but it was still early and he was recovering. Lark set the tray of orange juice in ice and some toast on the nightstand table, and stood beside the bed for a moment.   
  
Leaning down, Lark whispered to the air above his head, "For all the words I can't ever say...I love you Kurt. I love you, I love you, I love..." and kissed his forehead and cheek, reveling at the soft skin and fuzz. Then she quietly backed away and shut the door, failing to notice the thin gold crescents of Kurt's opened eyes.   
  
FIN. 


End file.
